


Better Living Through Tropes

by SuspenDisbelief



Category: Community
Genre: Abed is bad at not having a script, An Odd Amount of School Events, F/M, Get Together, Matchmaking, TV Tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuspenDisbelief/pseuds/SuspenDisbelief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an attempt to overthrow his own bias and make sure his script goes according to plan, Abed plots to get Jeff and Annie together by the end of their last school year by using tried and true Rom-Com techniques. Except Annie, whether she knows it or not, is fighting him on it every step of the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

> I am but a mere fan. I own not Community, the songs that I use for chapter titles, nor the movies that I shall reference.
> 
> Please enjoy :D

_"I'll follow you into the park, through the jungle, through the dark. Girl, I've never loved one like you."_ \- Edward Sharpe  & The Magnetic Zeros

 

 

There's a problem with the script. No wait, cut that line, Annie says I'm not supposed to keep a script anymore. She won't if I won't. We're both trying to wing it. So. 

 

There's a problem with the outline. 

 

(Babysteps.)

 

It's not that it's changed much. Sure the Britta/Annie leading lady switch-a-roo was a pleasant surprise. (Annie makes a stupendous leading lady. Warm, loving, kickass at paintball... I could go on but people tell me that over-description can get awkward) 

 

But there's something off. It's just that... I don't really like it. Which is a confusing sensation. Before, it was never a matter of like-or-dislike. It was just about following the correct plot points until the story was over. Which it would be soon. Season four. Series finale coming up. Everything will go according to plan (ahem outline), except... it's making me miserable. And I am not coming out of the Dreamatorium 2.0 until I calculate why. 

 

It's not Troy and Britta's amicable breakup, when she decides to go to Thailand after graduation to "find herself" again. And Pierce's tragically fated (two week) eighth marriage is going to be an amusing surprise for over the Holiday season. Shirley's crisis of faith when Ben gets sick is what will really bring us together over sweeps week. Jeff finding his father is going to mainly revolve around Jeff and, surprisingly, Pierce. It's not Annie's-almost-relapse episode (which I admittedly run twice just to make sure that there's no real danger), or Troy's football injury. 

 

Well, then.

 

That just leaves one thing.

 

The Big Final Kiss.

 

If I think about it I probably knew it was that all along.

 

So I force myself to watch it again and again. 

 

Jeff pulls her in. His oversized forehead brushes against her perfect one. Noses touch. He grins down at her just before they both shut their eyes and...

 

Knocking on cardboard. Quick and sharp. 

 

I exhale deeply. Apparently I was holding my breath. When I look back at the scene all I see is a yellow-taped grid on the wall. 

 

"Abed?" It's the real Annie. I open the door for her and she peers in, searching around me. She does this everytime, like she's trying to see whatever scene she's caught me in. I wonder, not for the first time if the refridgerator box can hold more than one person, especially when they're as petite as Annie. Probably only if we were pressed very close. 

 

We should definitely try that. 

 

Satisfied with her appraisal she turns back out of the blanket fort and over to her purse where she double checks her wallet, keys, and phone.

 

"Troy is at practise, Britta's in their room doing some of her reading, and I'm headed out to the store. I was just checking if..." She looks up at me and hesitates. Takes a breath. I must be doing that staring thing again. I angle my head to make eye contact with her shoes as she continues (of course still watching with my peripheral vision), "um... you needed anything. Batteries? Soda?" She smirks, "Earplugs?" 

 

I smile at her and shake my head (don't think of how Dreamatorium!Annie smirks before she kisses Jeff), but the way her forehead burrows tells me that I've shaped it incorrectly. She steps into my personal space and holds the back of her hand to my forehead. I can feel my breath catching and attribute it to the unexpected physical contact. "Maybe some flu medicine?" She asks, dropping her hand and her voice laced with concern. For me. Huh.

 

"I'm fine. Just the simulation. It was uh... frustrating." 

 

"Those damn Blorgons!"

 

"Something like that." 

 

"Want to come with me to the store?"

 

I hesitate before shaking my head, "I promised Britta that we'd talk soon. Seems like as good of a time as any." 

 

Her face pinches as she nods and grabs her things. There's a pause between swinging the purse on he shoulder and walking out the door. "Don't you let her Britta your brain, kay?"

 

I nod back and tilt my head at her curiously. Most people seem relieved if I tell them that I go to therapy.

 

But that wasn't too bad as far as one liners go. 

 

***

 

 

"Tell me about Evil Abed."

 

"He had a fake beard, Britta. Obviously he was my Evil Twin"

 

"Twin?"

 

"Forgive me. Not a biological twin. Myself from a parallel timeline. A Mirror Universe you could say."

 

First therapy session with Britta post-Felt Goatee Incident. We're sitting in the living room. Her initial suggestion was the kitchen, but I insisted on setting the scene appropriately  She's on a stool, be-speckled in her fake glasses with a notebook and pen, poised to go. I recline in my chair. It's not the proper couch that I need to complete my Woody Allen vibe, but it does in a pinch. I like to think that if I voiced that aloud, Britta would congratulate my adaptability.

 

I'm considering negotiating a reward system where progress is congratulated by acting out a classic therapy scene of my choosing. 

 

"And what do you think created Evil Abed?"

 

"I know you think he was triggered by Troy leaving for Air Conditioning Repair school, but you're wrong. He's been breaking into my simulations for a long time. It was... It was only after Troy left that I gave him control."

 

"Hmm... But you held it together for the whole summer. What changed?" 

 

I remain silent. I would like to curl to the side and face away from her, but it's a more aesthetically pleasing shot if I remain still. Eyes open, facing upwards. Drama over instinct. I look like I'm trying to figure out what to say, but that's just acting. I know what the answer is. I'd rather just not say it. Or think it. 

 

(Sometimes.)

 

"Abed...?"

 

Britta told me that therapy is about saying the things you don't want to say. Helps in the not-being-Evil thing. I'd like to avoid that in the future. I'm done with that character arc.

 

"I was being empathetic."

 

She writes this down and I can see her studying me from the corner of my eye. There's a splatter on the roof from when Troy opened a shaken up soda last night. Annie won't be happy.

 

"Go on..." 

 

She always says that when she can't figure out what to say.

 

"I've been trying to learn empathy. I wasn't the only one..." I struggle for the word, "upset about Troy" I turn to her. I must've forgotten to blink again because she looks unnerved. I can do that to her since the Felt Goatee Incident. It doesn't feel good so I try to be a well-behaved patient and explain what I meant. Eyes back to the stain on the ceiling."You and Troy had been exploring your own Beta Romance and that was cut off too early. As Team Mom, Shirley was grieving the loss of one of her children. It made Annie _cry_... If I gave in to Evil Abed that would be selfish. Everyone would just have another person to worry over and Annie would be all alone in the apartment."

 

"Hmm... And how was the apartment after Troy left? Just you and Annie?"

 

"Wait. What?" I blink and sit upwards. This was supposed to be about Evil Abed and The Darkest Timeline. I did not prepare for any deviations in the scene. I turn back to her and Britta is smiling innocently, one eyebrow arched higher on her forehead. Acting like she knows something. _Saying the things you don't want to say._ I'm starting to wonder if _not wanting_ to say it is actually the problem. "I don't know wha..." Sound of a door opening and the rustle of re-usable vinyl grocery bags. A Convenient Interruption by Annie. My hero. Must've skipped the bookstore on the way home. Britta frowns as she closes up the notebook and I push down my footstool, getting up to help Annie with her bags in the kitchen. 

 

"Abed!" Annie's face shifts from a dreamy grin to a full on toothy smile, as she lifts the over-flowing bags onto the counter. I join her, peering into the piles of food and putting them into the appropriate cupboards as she starts chatting about the store and her purchases, "Generic Letter Noodles were on sale 3 for $5. I know they never have enough 'E's, but I thought you could make a game out of it?" She looks a little apologetic as she's dumping oranges into the fruit bowl, but I just smile at her softly so that she'll brighten and continue. She does. "I know it's a little late for watermelon, but..." And off she goes again.

 

To answer Britta's question, it was a lot like this. Sure, a little more sad and way less food, but comfortable. Domestic. The everyday life that gets cut out between madcap adventures. We puttered around each other, taking turns cooking, watching TV, going through her chore list. We always avoided the third chair at the table, made sure there was one spot open in the living room. And it probably sounds like a terribly lonely few months (and it was), but there was Annie, who liked to talk to fill the quiet rooms with her sing-song voice. Little things about her day, funny stories from the group that I'd missed, sometimes just reading aloud from her biology textbook. She didn't seem to mind that I never had much to contribute, but would always look up to check my reactions, make sure she wasn't boring me. She worried about me when I stopped leaving the apartment. It made me think of what movie characters were looking forward to after the happy ending. She made it easy to tell him no. But she couldn't be home all the time and the silence is where he would slip between the cracks.

 

Annie is just finishing off a dramatic re-enactment of fighting another woman for the last watermelon when Britta joins us, leaning against the door frame with the end of her glasses resting thoughtfully between her teeth. I had my face shaped to match my amusement in case Annie shot one of those curious glances my way, but I drop back to neutral under the power of Britta's gaze  _Just you and Annie?_ Something about that question creates a sensation at the base of my neck, the tickle I get when things go off-book and I need to readjust.

 

"Speak of the devil..." Britta cuts off Annie's story just as she mimes stomping on the other woman's foot. I'm disappointed because Annie rarely participates in slapstick. There's that smile again. Falsely innocent. Suddenly Britta is the one who unnerves me, instead of the opposite way around. 

 

"Speak of...?" Annie turns to each of us in confusion. Jeff always calls them The Doe Eyes, but that I doesn't explain why I always feel like the deer caught in the headlights. "Were you guys talking about me?"

 

"Abed and I were just having one of our therapy session." 

 

"Oh! Do you need me to..." She motions out the door, but I'm already shaking my head.

 

"No. We were done for today, weren't we Britta?" 

 

"Oh yeah," The blonde fixes me with a look, "Very insightful. Actually I just have on more thing I need to ask you, Abed, if you'll join me in the blanket fort?" 

 

"Are you sure you don't need more time?" Annie still looks concerned. She may actually leave, it's in her character to put others convenience above her own. 

 

"No," I attempt to insist it, try and sound a little less flat than usual, "This won't take long. I'll come out and help with dinner when I'm done." It's always the little acts of kindness that get a response from Annie and she doesn't disappoint. Gloss-covered pink lips pull into the gentle smile that I've begun associating with _doing good_. I gulp and can feel my palms start to sweat, perhaps indicating nervousness at what I predict Britta is going to want to finish talking about. "Maybe we should finish talking in the bathroom though." I'm still looking at Annie when I address Britta. "More... walls."

 

Annie's still confused and a little concerned, chewing on the corner of her bottom lip when I turn and follow Britta's retreating form. I wonder if I can get the actress I use for Annie's role to mimic that expression. I've been having trouble with her work lately. Not detailed enough. Britta holds the door open for me and I stop to eat an olive as we take our respective seats. I chew it slowly. Stalling. This time she sits on the closed toilet lid and I lay in the bathtub, knees bent. Setting the scene. Adaptability again. Annie would be proud, too.

 

"So, Abed. Just one last question today." Pen out ready to write. It's purple with a little monster on the top, probably grabbed from Annie's backpack last minute. She taps it against her page a few times and underlines something that she had written previously. Two seconds, three seconds, four... If she's trying to build suspense, she's doing it correctly. I tap each foot against the side of the tub twice. And don't look at her until she clears her throat dramaticly  I'm about to tell her that she's starting to milk it a bit when she decides I've suffered enough. "Can you me when you fell in love with our little Annie?"

 

Not cool. Not cool, not cool, not cool.


	2. This Modern Love

 

  
_"Don't get offended if I seem absent-minded. Just keep telling me facts and keep making me smile."_ -Bloc Party

 

 

I go out and help Annie with dinner because I said I would. And I don't break promises to Annie.

 

And then I go into the blanket fort.

 

And then I don't really come out. 

 

Well, that's not true. I have to leave occasionally. Bathroom, fridge... the mall for new DVDs, comics, and Star Wars novelizations. Just the essentials. Troy doesn't really notice because living with your girlfriend seems to be a pretty distracting situation, rife with classic misunderstandings and feel-good resolutions. He saunters into the blanket fort whenever he wants to see me, never noticing that it's the only place I've been for the last few weeks. He leaves Britta out in the living room and it's almost like old times. 

 

_Can you tell me when you fell in love with our little Annie?_

 

I think that Britta thought she was being clever, the smug way that she asked, leaving no room for denial. Very Law and Order. I think she's been practising. It's supposed to be a proud moment for a therapist, the scene where she reveals the inner truth that the patient themselves hadn't even realised. But this is Britta, so no. That moment came for me months ago, eating buttered noodles in silence at the kitchen table together. I had my laptop out, editing a scene that I had shot earlier that day, while she sat reading a textbook that she had propped open against the empty fruit bowl. I looked over as she was tucking her hair behind her ear and my fingers twitched with the desire to stroke my hand across her face in the same motion. I could take my thumb and run it over her rosy lip lightly, coax the corners into a smile. I could grab her shoulders and pull her up into an embrace, her face against my chest and I could whisper "I love you, I love you, I love you" into her hair. It's a beautiful scene, script and story-board finished in the time it takes for me to blink and mutter "Huh." She looks up, a little confused, but I just shake my head and stare back down at my computer screen until she's reabsorbed into her reading. Then I stare. And I haven't really stopped since.

 

Of course I don't tell this to Britta. Instead I choose the more rational option and sit in complete silence until she starts to worry, verbally, if she's broken me. "Should I go get Annie?" 

 

"No." I say, unwrapping my legs from their cramped position curled in the tub. _Let's not get drastic_ , I think. "I'm fine. I think we're done for the day, don't you?"

 

"Don't we get a whole hour?" She asks, raising an eyebrow pointedly. I smile at the quip and she just grins back while gesturing towards the door. 

 

"You're free. Go forth and be awkward. I won't say a word."

 

"You're a good friend, Britta." 

 

And she might not have helped me figure out how I feel about Annie, but she helped me figure out something just as important.

 

_People could tell._

 

I mean, if Britta could figure it out (giving her enough credit to assume that it wasn't just a shot in the dark, a bluff to shock me into a confession. Plottwist: Could Britta be that devious? Must run the simulations later), it was only a matter of time before the others started noticing. Obviously my behaviour had changed so much that I had gone from the observer...(Dramatic pause) to the observed. And if I was the one being observed, that would mean that I had, somewhere along three seasons worth of plotlines and story arcs, become a character.

 

Nope. No way. Can't even. Does not compute. 

 

I'm the fly on the wall, the unseen eye, the man behind the camera. I don't write the script (outline), but I can see it and I can work within it. If I become a character, give-up my objectivity, then I close my eyes to the big picture and get caught up in the drama. I'm going to lose control. When I agreed to wing it with Annie, I was agreeing to allow for more deviation within the perimeters, but this... This just throws the whole thing out the window.

 

Annie is the new leading lady. Annie is full of compassion and empathy and ambition. After three years of will-they-won't-they tension, Annie and Jeff are going to ride off in his luxury sports car into the sunset and never look back. I'll go to film school in Vancouver or California. Or I'll spend the rest of my life in the falafel restaurant. (There. Winging it.)

 

I told myself it was fine that I was in love with Annie. It's not like I can help it and it doesn't matter as long as I never act on it. But apparently I can't even get that right. So.

 

I go out and help Annie with dinner because I said I would. And I don't break promises to Annie.

 

And then I go into the blanket fort.

 

And then I don't really come out. 

 

Well, that's not true. I'm there on the first day of the new semester. New seating arrangement in the study room. Britta has traded me places to be closer to Troy. I'm across from Annie, Jeff between us. And isn't that metaphor just slapping you in the face. Except symbolic seating arrangements only count if you're a participating character. Which I'm not. Hence the two week practise in lying low, cutting back my screen time, and trying to get the plot (outline) back on track. 

 

Given that it's the first episode of a new season I keep an eye out for foreshadowing. And, yes, Troy brings up his football practises which usually go unmentioned. And there is Shirley fretting over Ben being fussier than usual. Jeff frowning at his phone messages in a way that makes me assume that it is bad news on his newly begun quest to reconnect with his absentee father. Classic. And, at last, before they pack up to leave after an hour of decidedly not-studying, Britta mentions an e-mail from one of her protester friends who's travelling the world.

 

"...and look at these pictures she e-mailed me from Thailand!" She shows Pierce and Shirley her phone, her tone thick with longing. 

 

Yeah, everything is falling into place. Except, well... And I try to ignore the leap in my chest when I realise it, but all the interactions between Annie and Jeff have seemed pretty casual. Almost, dare I say it, platonic? 

 

And that's not a good thing.

 

It's not. 

 

Nope.

 

Neither is the way that Annie hangs back from the rest of the group to wait for me so we can walk together.

 ***

 

If you consider Cougarton Abbey as a really long movie instead of a really short TV series, the ending is a lot easier to take. It's Friday evening, first week back to Greendale, third week into my self-imposed exile and I have almost re watched my entire collection. The rest of the group was headed out to celebrate their successful return. Somewhere classy, Britta had suggested, where the drinks were way too expensive and made of 97% fruit juice. They were all meeting at apartment 303 and I feigned an upset stomach at the last minute, ducking into my blanket fort with my laptop and a couple box sets that had been gathering dust. 

 

Hopefully with the aid of dim lights and lowered inhibitions the romantic arc will realign and I can be part of the group again. After so much progress forward, I feel like the isolation is dragging me all the way back to where I was in high school. Although it wasn't all bad, I think, remembering an almost completed scene-for scene remake of  _A New Hope_  made with stop-motion lego figurines, still saved in some dark file folder on my Dad's desktop. Maybe tomorrow when I know he's working I can...

 

The click of the lock turning and the scrap of wood on wood as the door is eased open. (Auditory advantage of cloth walls is both a blessing and a curse while living in a blanket fort.)

 

"Abed?"

 

Annie. 

 

I remain silent, hope that she just forgot her coat. Or thinks I'm too sick. Or absorbed in a movie. Or sleeping. But no, I see the outline of her through the sheets just before her hand slides through to part the entrance. I pause my show, but keep the laptop on my lap as a defense. Against what I can't decide. The surprise of finding myself not alone for the evening has set me on edge, trapped with a wall to my side and another bunk above. I stare up at her thoughtfully, nervous, as she looks down at me as though waiting for an answer. I'd remind her that she hasn't asked anything yet, but that would require initiating conversation. 

 

"Abed..." She hesitates and stares at her hands, "Is everything okay?"

 

"I have an upset stomach." Even I think it comes out a bit too robotic, too quick and even. For all the characters I like to portray, I'm not particularly good at acting like myself. 

 

"Right." She draws it out and I assume that the inflection suggests that she doubts my ruse, "So if you're sick, then it would be pretty in-character of me to tell the rest of the group I'm worried about you. That I should probably head home and make sure you're doing okay?" She's smiling that little smile she gets when she knows the right answer on a test. I really don't like where this is going so I only nod. "And if you were sick I would stay with you, you know? Make you soup the way you like, watch any Kickpuncher movie..." Her nose wrinkles in evident distaste and I think that if I was the sort of person who smiled a lot, I would start grinning at her now. (Flu shots tend to make me feel ill and I have to stop myself from hoping that she'll still feel this way the next time there is an immunization clinic. My brain is a traitor.) "So that's why I have to know why you're lying to me. To all of us." Uh-oh. Here comes the Disney eyes.

 

I'm doomed.

 

"It's just that for the past few weeks..." Annie continues and steps closer to the bed and suddenly I can smell the perfume that she put on in anticipation to her night out, "I feel like you've been avoiding me. Us. Everyone." 

 

"Annie..."

 

"It's like when Troy left," She rushes forward in one breath and I wonder if she had this speech planned out. I feel a small flare of pride, "but I just don't understand because he's back now and you have your sessions with Britta and..." She gapes at me and sits down,"Oh my God, she did it, didn't she? Did she Britta you?" I shake my head, feel the small smile cracking through now. Totally doomed.

 

"Annie," _Don't say I love you_ , "Lately I've been feeling..." _Like I love you_. I consider and quickly dismiss coming up with a false scenario (lie), basing it on a quick attempt to look at her perspective (empathy, new but I'm learning) I know it would only hurt her if she ever found out. Even though she probably never would, with her feelings at stake, I wouldn't risk the odds. I also figure out that this confrontation comes from a place of concern and not curiosity. She doesn't need to know the why, she just needs to know that I'm going to snap out of it. Obviously this avoidence strategy is no longer an option. "Overwhelmed." Not a lie and she nods her head sympathetically, as though this is what she expected, "I needed to process. I didn't realise that anyone noticed. I am sorry for causing you to worry." 

 

"Oh, Abed." Too distracted by big blue eyes locked onto mine, I only feel that there is a pressure on my hand, currently situated on my knee, and almost jerk upwards when I come to the conclusion that the warmth and gentle squeeze is her fingers grasping mine. I want to hold it tight and yank her forwards until her body is pressing down on mine. I want to swallow her surprised squeak with my mouth over her's. I want, most of all, to not be getting strong, inappropriate urges towards one of my best friends. "Did you want to go meet up with the others?"

 

I don't trust my voice to sound level, so I just shake my head side to side.

 

"Okay, we'll stay in." She beams at me, leaning just a bit closer. Why would she smile so largely at that? Hadn't I just ruined her big Friday night plans? Social events taking place on weekends hold great significance to people of our age group. "Want to bring your DVD to the living room?"

 

"No," I clear my throat, hoping she didn't notice that it was a quarter pitch higher than usual. "I wasn't really in the mood for this one. We can pick out one of yours." Good, back to normal. That is until...

 

"Really?" She's positively glowing. I suppose I don't actually go into her DVD collection very often. It's only because if she does have any good ones, I probably already own them. But if this is the reaction that the suggestion gets every time, her hand grasping mine tightly as she drags me up and out into the living room, well...

 

I'm doomed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I first posted this at four am... So now I've edited it for the THOUSANDS of typos. My sincerest apologies to all you lovely people.


End file.
